


Haphazard

by Riachinko



Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Doubt, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doc loves Marty, though he doesn't know in which ways or how deeply. But he has changed his mind about letting Marty become more than a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haphazard

Marty knocks on the back door of the garage at 2:22am.

It's raining out, and though not pouring, the trip over to Doc's part of town was long enough; Marty's hair mats his face, and he's dripping wet when he's let inside.

"Marty," Doc says somberly, "it's raining...you didn't have to come at this hour, I apologize."

Marty looks tired and miserable; shivers a bit as he sets his skateboard wheels-down on his friend's worn out doormat. Thankfully he sounds chipper enough - even grins sheepishly - when he huffs a breath. "You've never worried about the time before, Doc."

Doc shakes his head slightly, uncharacteristically inanimate; humbled. He's got that faint smile that lets Marty know he's glad he's here. Marty understands the hesitation.

Of course he does; he wasn't phoned up and invited over at 1:45 in the morning for no reason. He looks up at his friend and a faint grin tugs at his lips.

"You've changed your mind."

Doc looks remorseful - more than that - the man looks downright beaten up.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he says hoarsely. "My experiments are suffering because of you."

Marty chortles, brushes a hand through dark, wet locks. Sighs.

He'd known at the time that advancing on the old man had been a mistake; maybe the air was thin, maybe there was a gas leak and he'd gotten high. Maybe he'd been thinking about doing this for longer than he'd care to say; he'd been out of his mind, and he hadn't been able to stop himself. Doc had gotten close - _so_ close - and in that moment they had shared a familiar intimate look that said to Marty that it was okay.

And then he hadn't seen or heard from his friend in five days.

"So," Marty stalls with the expected awkwardness of a horny youth, leaning back against the door, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. The white fabric clings dark grey against his lean form before he peels it off.

"What should we do?"

He pushes off the door, kicks off his soaken, mucky shoes onto the mat beside his skateboard. Doc's eyes never leave him as Marty saunters through the garage. He drapes his wet tee over Doc's workbench to dry; sits on Doc's side of the old velveteen couch, and Einstein joins him, curling up obediently at Marty's feet while his master stands by the door silently - mouth agape - wondering how this teenage boy with no scientific background to speak of worked his way so flawlessly into his life.

" _Well_ ," Doc scoffs accusingly, moving to sit beside Marty, however awkwardly. He keeps his hands busy scratching Einie's neck, one thumb tapping against his leg, and his eyes roaming everywhere except for on the boy.

"Contrary to what you probably think of me now, Doc, I don't just go around seducing men and keeping them from their work." He smiles, fixing his gaze on the floor. "I'm just as clueless as you are, here."

And Doc laughs - finally smiles and laughs genuinely - and Marty is all over him.

They're sloppy kisses, but Marty doesn't care enough to try to do any better. Jennifer is too concerned about things like that, but Doc kisses back with just as much force and unwieldy passion as him, uncaring that when they part lips, the taste of Marty's Hubba Bubba is still left there. It isn't weird, like Marty thought it might be. Doc leans in to press kisses to Marty's bare neck, and the kid shivers in delight under every little touch. Marty even tilts his head further against the back of the couch, offering himself up for whatever feels right. He's grinning so much his cheeks ache.

It's warm and humid in the garage and Marty feels a little bit dizzy with adrenaline. He absentmindedly begins to unbutton Doc's shirt and leans forward to push Doc down against the musty old couch cushions, face flushed pink, eyes half open. His hormones are going crazy; he doesn't even really know what he wants to do right now - what he's _capable_ of doing - but it has to be something, and soon.

He gasps when he falls on to Doc's chest and their groins connect at that perfect height, and they both instinctively buck their hips against one another, not knowing what else to do.

He thinks snidely to himself that Jennifer could never be like this for him, feels guilty to have started this at all, but can't bring himself to feel regretful now. He wonders if she'll be able to smell Doc on him in the morning when he meets her at his locker before class. He doubts he'll have time - or the drive - for a shower before school. He gives up on thinking too much; just slides himself desperately against Doc, purrs against the man's neck, lets himself drown.

They move feverishly together, Doc pressing himself up against Marty with latent experience, still kissing that bare neck but wanting to move lower. Taking the initiative instead, Marty ducks his head and shifts in his seat, toying with the man's fly. He's stopped, though, and the look on Marty's burning face is too much: a little bit of confusion, sorrow, frustration...and overwhelmingly raw lust. 

"Doc," he chokes out.

The man peels himself out from under Marty and erratically gets to his feet. He grabs the boy's arm and all but throws him in the direction of his twin size bed in the corner of the room. Marty breaks into giddy laughter because not only is something going to happen, but his friend is back to his spontaneous, crazy self. He lands unceremoniously atop the unmade bed and makes himself comfortable while Doc runs hurriedly between the designated kitchen and bathroom areas of the garage. Keeping his still-damp jeans on, he unzips his fly and throws a hand behind his head for cushioning.

"What're you doing, Doc?"

All he hears is clattering and shuffling; drawers being opened and shut. 

Finally Doc returns, defeated. "I don't have, uh...have any--"

Marty blinks until realization hits him, and he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks; runs a hand through his hair and dumbly grabs for the wallet in his back pocket. "Oh." He fishes a condom out of the billfold and tosses it at the man, whose long fingers fumble to catch it, caught off guard at the happenstance.

"And you're sure you don't go around seducing people," Doc rolls his eyes and grins.

"It's not like that," Marty smirks, "but I'm not that innocent either; there _are_ some things I've done with my girlfriend, you know."

...Aand that was the wrong thing to say. Doc makes his way to the bed and sits at the foot of it, looking instantly morose. When Marty grabs and hugs him from behind, he can feel the other man's heart pounding in his chest.

"Marty, this is a mistake, isn't it?"

"What? Don't you want to get back to your projects?" he snides, poking the man playfully in the side. He squeezes Doc's shoulders, kneading his thumbs between his shoulder blades in small circles, over and over as a half-assed attempt at a massage. He lets his forehead drop to meet the back of Doc's neck as his hands trail lower, until they're at that fly that he was denied access to earlier. 

"Don't tell me you called me over here for nothing."

Doc closes his eyes and lets the boy touch him. Sighs. It's been so long, and though he's not a man desperate for sexual gratification, he would hate to lose the chance at such intimacy now. He loves Marty - he's not really sure in exactly which ways, or how deeply - but he's always been reluctant to let this happen; never been sure how to turn a friendship into more, and too responsible to dwell on it. He'd blocked out Marty's lingering glances at his lips; had to remind himself often not to let his own eyes roam below Marty's waist.

The boy's soothing ministrations has him downright crazy. 

Well, here goes then, fuck it.

He rolls his shoulders to shake Marty off and lets himself fall down onto the boy, pressing their lips together in another haphazard kiss; hands fishing down each others' pants, grabbing whatever they can and just _needing_ it.

Doc slips his hand under the waistband of Marty's briefs and presses his palm wonderfully against the boy's attentive cock. Marty writhes under his touch and thrusts and chortles and gasps, and mirrors Doc's actions as best he can. And sure, it's a little bit strange to have another guy's dick in his hand, but he starts pumping his fist up and down and making Doc hard, and it's strange but also kind of exhilarating that Doc is getting hard for _him_.

They spend a few quiet minutes just pawing at each other, until Doc stops abruptly and reaches blindly around the comforter for that condom of Marty's.

Tearing open the wrapper, Doc considers the physics behind this thing that he's never done. He takes a second to slick his index and middle fingers with saliva and - as soon as Marty's shucked off his jeans and underwear and kicked them to the floor - pushes those two fingers past the foreign ring of muscle, and inside of Marty.

And Marty lets free a crazed yelp.

"Jesus Christ, Doc!" he hisses.

Doc freezes, curses his inexperience with this particular act - should have known it must hurt. He watches the muscles above Marty's brow twitch, watches the boy beneath him inhale and exhale coolly. And soon he's bucking his hips again encouragingly.

"You can keep going, Doc," he coos, reaching up to grab on to Doc's sleeves and pull him closer. "J-just t-take it easy..."

A nervous sweat runs along the old man's face, beading at his chin, and he obliges; continues easing his fingers in and out at a slower rate, caressing muscles and coaxing Marty to get used to it, exhaling loudly with every slow insertion and hoping he's living up to whatever standards the boy may have. Marty says nothing more, just occasionally grunts though clenched teeth and hums positively. 

"It's okay," Marty whispers, anxious and tired, horny and ready. "It's okay. Go."

Doc kisses the boy on the forehead, "Try to relax," he tells him.

He's still clothed for the most part, in stark contrast to Marty's nakedness, youthful and bright. Doc prepares himself passively, with his slacks and drawers rolled down to his hips and the condom rolled onto his cock, and he lines himself up just right to Marty's entrance. The sensation at the head is strong and blissful, and he bites his lower lip to help remain under control. When he pushes delicately inside, Marty is tight and hot and he doesn't let himself stop, plunging in fully to the hilt.

Marty looks damn good on his back, gasping at the new, strange pressure within him.

"D-does it hurt?" Doc asks.

Marty bites his lip, shakes his head no, despite the look on his face possibly saying otherwise. Doc's hips rock against Marty slowly at first, stuttering into an even rhythm, only gaining speed once Marty wraps his legs up around Doc's waist and groans quietly, blissfully.

"I'll be okay," he sighs out. "Harder."

It's almost a whisper, but very clearly a demand.

He does it - hesitantly so, but Doc grabs Marty roughly by the hips and moves faster, pumps harder into the boy, hardly able to control the animalistic instincts at play now.

And it does hurt, a little. Perfectly so. Mostly, the sensation is simply bizarre, but the _idea_ of it is wholly arousing. Marty grabs fistfuls of blankets and pants into the stale air, repositioning ever so slightly and unwittingly allowing Doc's cock to brush against his prostate. Doc doesn't know what's happened - why Marty arches his back and howls with every thrust - but the ungodly racket that rings throughout the garage turns Doc's face red and makes his hips buck out of rhythm. His own pants are loud now too, and begin to blend with Marty's desperate gasps of "Oh god! Ah yeah! Shit! Yes!"

His hand moves down to touch Marty's face, but unable to reach comfortably, he instead grabs a messy handful of hair and pulls the kid towards him in a kiss.

And that angle is _superb_.

Pounding and pounding at that one spot, with his hair in Doc's fist and their mouths crashing together awkwardly because neither of them know how to do it any better - it makes Marty quiver. He'd thought - had heard - that this would hurt. He laughs, completely overwhelmed, and falls limply back on to the bed as enraptured tears begin to burn in the corners of his eyes. He knows he's close, reaches desperately between his legs and jerks out a wonderful release that manages to stripe his chest and knuckles.

"Shit," he growls, burying his head in blankets, "Oh god, Doc!" And he feels perfectly used.

Marty can hear Doc's ragged breaths above him, wheezes of exertion. He finishes shortly thereafter, stalling his hips, pressed tightly to the boy as he topples down onto him with a groan. Doc pulls out, wrapping his arms around Marty's chest and rolling over beside him on the sweat-damp bed. Their chests rise and fall in time, and they stare at the ceiling for too long - long enough to begin feeling cold.

Doc finally reaches down to pull up his drawers and pants, but leaves them unfastened, still catching his breath and too tired to care about decency after what he's just done. He mutters a sincere - if not shy - "Thank you, Marty."

"Don't say that, Doc," Marty chuckles, drawing circles on the back of Doc's hand with his finger. "I...love you."

Is that weird?

"In a way...I think," he adds.

"Ditto, kid." And Doc smiles that big cartoony smile that Marty's found irresistibly endearing for so long.

He won't deny the feeling of cum dripping down his inner thigh is a little bit gross as Marty gets up to clean himself off at the kitchen sink. He scoops his clothing up from the floor and lazily dresses himself in plain view of Doc, giving the man one last show. When Doc gets up to clean himself off as well, Marty lays back down on the bed, listens to the rain outside, and passes out.

It's 6:58 in the morning when Marty wakes, aching, finding his limbs tangled with Doc's. He hums contentedly and wants more than anything to stay just like this, but the sun is coming up and he needs to get back home, sneak back through his window; wake up and eat breakfast with his family. Easing out of bed as silently as he can manage, Marty grabs his skateboard and creaks the back door open. He gives his sleeping friend one last admiring glance before slipping away into the dead street, the cool morning air smelling of wet cement and biting at his warm cheeks.

 

Sun beams through the dusty windows of the garage. Einstein jumps on to the bed, licking Doc's hand to wake him, and for the first time in five days, Doc is able to think about science.


End file.
